This blog was initially launched as a resource for Ron Mohring's Working Class Literature course. New poems are posted irregularly. All are welcome to share and comment on poems by and about work and the working classes. To suggest a poem for inclusion or a book for the recommended reading list, please email ron dot mohring at gmail dot com; put Working Class Poems in your subject line. Thanks.

11.10.2009

State Home

A mile down fields back of the farmafter scrubbing all day with the kids.But there was the linen room.I’d put a pail by the door,kind of get in behind a big trunkand pull blankets over. Not many called out;between rounds I’d catch a few hours.Nights weren’t too bad that way.Bedpans and sponging, of course, and the dosesthe nurse left instructions for,and the women who’d scream and scream if they heard youand the old men who wouldn’t swallow,even if you took their hands away they never stopped sobbing.But what no one liked was a laying-outand that shift was when they’d die. One eveningthe day staff all left laughing at me:an old lady was going to go.I had her with me all down the hallsthe rattle was that loud.About three it changed and I knew.But I had whisky hidden for the cramps every monthor they’d get so I couldn’t work:I slipped her some and she quieted.I did that each time she choked.They were wide-mouthed in the morning;she hung on three daysand it wasn’t me when she finally went.